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TOEMS by 



ELLA WOODWARD FOOTE 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap. Copyright No. 

Shel£;J!i:7 '7~"6 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



■QOEMS BY 



ELLA WOODWARD FOOTE. 




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ELLA WOODWARD FOOTE* 




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OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA, 

GEO- ARTHUR KELLEY. 

MDCCCXCVIIL 



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8336 



TWO C0ni8 RECEIVED. 



2nd CO-»y, 
1688. 







CONTENTS* 

BALLADE OF DEDICATION 
ENVOI 

THIS SUMMER DAY 
A GREETING 
SPRING SONG 
BRAVADO 
MINOR THIRDS 
A CHOICE 
THE MASK 

MARIA ADDOLORATA 
.SELF DECEPTION 
DISCIPLINE 
PREMONITION 
SLEEP 

A CONTRAST 
LETTERS 
WITHHELD 
THE FIELD-GLASS 
COMPARISON 
PRAYER 
A HOLIDAY 
THE GREAT LOSS 
RECOMPENSE 
QUESTION 
DROUGHT 
GRIEF 
LESSONS 

THE STRATAGEM 
FAITHFUL FAILURE 
LIFE'S GIFT 
PROTEST 

TO 

REPROOF TO SPRING 

RESIGNATION 

CUPID'S WAY 

APRIL 

DELAY 

THE BARGAIN 

SUNSET 

ASPIRATION 



PAGE 1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

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7 

8 

9 

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13 

14 

15 

16 

17 

18 

19 

20 

21 

22 

23 

24 

25 

26 

27 

28 

29 

30 

31 
• * 
32 

33 

34 

35 

36 

37 

38 

39 

40 



BALLADE OF DEDICATION. 

RHYME, in these fin de siecle days, 
Has for defender many a wight, 
For every deed must have its praise, 

So every one, forsooth, must write* 
I f m half inclined to add my mite, 

And flaunt abroad a stocking blue - 
On second thought I '11 hide my light, 
And write a book that f s all for you ! 

One passes on through life's strange maze, 

"Where part is laughter, most is fight - 
Sometimes it seems it hardly pays 

When life is in such sorry plight, 
To try and keep the conscience white* 

Why not another art pursue, 
Forsake the thorny pathway quite, 

And write a book that f s all for you ? 



Trouble, it seems, has many ways 

Of turning morning into night; 
But naught a plucky heart dismays, - 

If one good friend but keeps in sight 
He sees the silver lining bright ! 

Would I might prove a stay as true, 
Speed every trouble on its flight, 

And write a book that f s all for you ! 



ENVOI- 
LADY, the trust your eyes invite 

Is my excuse for what I do; 
Boldly I pen these verses slight, 

And write a book that's all for you* 



RONDEAUX, 



THIS SUMMER DAY. 

THIS summer day that flits so fast, 
Carries its hint of Autumn's blast, - 
A fugitive, without the art 
To hide from us its alien heart, - 
I know you, an iconoclast ! 

Confess the secret that thou hast, 
When July's skies, so cloudless, vast, 
With sad October's fancies start, 
This Summer day! 

What is the chain that links the past 
To present days, too bright to last, - 

What autumn morning left its dart 
Of chill remembrance in my heart, 
That with its shadow can o'er cast 

This Summer day ! 



A GREETING. 

YOU 'RE thirty five ! You pass to-day 
The middle milestone on your way, 
And half of all you mean to do 
Is done, and half your journey through* 
Goodbye to youth which cannot stay! 

Old Age. whom none may long delay, 
Salutes you, much to your dismay; 

You can f t deny, - you know it 's true 
You f re thirty five! 

I send to you this roundelay, 

May you improve as you grow gray, 

Such good luck happens to a few; 

And let me whisper this to you - 
To-day reflect and frankly say 

You 're thirty five ! 



SPRING SONG. 

Here in my hand 
A spray of pink arbutus bloom, 
Its fragrance fills the sunny room; 

Once more I stand, 
Love, by your side, and watch the slow 
And sweet unfolding of the Spring - 
The misty clouds that come and go, 

The birds that sing ! 

Why is it, Dear, 
That every whispering southern breeze, 
Each lengthening shadow of the trees, 

Brings you so near ? 

Sweetheart, we two 
Could never have it otherwise* 
It is not loss when all the skies 

Bring news of you, 
When every pattering April shower 
Brings thought or memory to me, - 
A tiny pink arbutus flower 

Brings tears, you see,- 

And yet I know 
I would not spare one smallest thing 
From these long heartaches that they bring - 

I love you so ! 



BRAVADO. 

IN this light mood I call to mind 
'Mid hackneyed phrase the poets f ind, 
A song; no one has sung as yet - 
* How to be happy, though in debt" 
The art to meet Fate's blow unkind, 

To face defeat, nor look behind, 
And in life's unr emittent grind, 
To sing rondeau or triolet 

In this light mood* 

It takes a vision somewhat blind 
To see each cloud with silver lined, 

And stoic heart to still regret; 

Why think ? 'tis better to forget, - 
Many 's the mortgage I have signed 
In this light mood ! 



SONNETS. 



THE MASK. 

ONE passed with downcast head and face concealed, 
And the throng gated, whispering behind the hand: 
'T was said he wore a mask to hide a brand, 
Which marked a hidden crime that he would shield. 
And since no question would an answer yield, 

They grew more bold, and claimed they made demand 
For public good, - that men might understand 
That naught exists which shall not be revealed. 

But then Death came; faithful to Life's decree, 
He kept the secret well in his own way; 

The long imprisoned face had grown to be 

Too like its metal mould to aught betray, - 

And lying side by side, one seemed to see 

The perfect bronze, and the design in clay* 



MARIA ADDOLORATA. 

LIFE rent the veil from disillusioned eyes, 
And showed thee Heaven's gate and Hell's abyss* 
And freely offering all things, grudged not this - 
Supreme temptation as its crowning prize* 
The dignity which comes with sacrifice 
Transfigured Sin unto the nobler bliss, 
And measured love by what it dared to miss, - 
The soul's surrender which such love implies. 

Thy keen remorse held no condoning guess 

To balance what had been with what might be, 
( Sad punishment of this, our later day, ) 

Nor peered into your perfect happiness 
With sneering comment on Eternity - 
Doubt of that Heaven you gladly throw away* 



JO 



SELF-DECEPTION. 

u T CHOOSE to drink of Life's red wine ! n I said - 
•L " No sovereign but myself will I confess, 
I stake my soul against sweet happiness ! " 

Then tur ning, saw with veiled averted head, 

A shadow grim; but not disquieted, 

I laughed. ** O Death," said I, u You can but bless, 
Promise that when you see me comfortless 

You will draw near and close the path I tread," 

There came at last a bitter, bitter day - 

Trembling, I sought for this forgotten friend, 
44 1 keep the tryst, n I heard a low voice say, 

44 Naught shall divide us till Life shall end." 
Exultingly I waited the embrace - 
Not Death, but pale Remorse, unveiled her face ! 



it 



DISCIPLINE, 

AS ONE who hears among a merry throng 
A perfect voice, singing a well-known air, , 
And hearing it anew in cadence rare, 
Wonders that he was ignorant so long 
Of all the strength and beauty of the song - 
And hums the foolish tune, all unaware 
T was the sweet singer that had made it fair 
With hidden graces which to Art belong; - 

So* may a Life, based on a common theme, 

And filled with petty care and homely strife, 

Be so divinely lived that it shall seem 

Transfigured, full of light, with blessings rife, 

If Discipline perfect the singer's art, 

Shall not the same power glorify the heart ? 



!2 



PREMONITION. 

I DO not dread an altered, roving heart, 
Or that a weary length of land or sea 

May separate you, dearest friend, from me. 
Time chooses subtler ways to ply his art. 
I fear, instead, the drifting slow apart, 

That unresisted, unrestrained might be, - 
The calm possession that demands no fee, 
The dull indifference that feels no smart. 

As two light skiffs, that floating side by side, 

Through peaceful days and placid summer nights, 
Adown some inland waters, - might divide 

When they had reached the ocean's harbor lights, 
And sailing with the tide, be sundered far, 
Though they were reckoning by the selfsame star ! 



13 



SLEEP- 

WHO hath so many enemies as Sleep ! 
Life challenges with its first breathless cry, - 
The stormy bursts of youthful woe defy - 
The cares of middle years upon her creep - 
Fear, Grief, Anxiety, like sentries, keep 

Perpetual watch; and Love and Joy ally 
Themselves, her claims to questions and deny, 
And steal her fortresses with cunning deep* 

Yet who is so victorious in the strife ! 

Though vanquished oft, familiar with disgrace 
Or soon or late she conquers every foe, 

Inexorably demands her prisoner, - Life: 

And rears a slender shaft in some fair place, 
To mark the triumph of the overthrow. 



14 



A CONTRAST. 

DEEM him thrice fortunate, to whom Life shows 
An unaverted face without disguise. 
He reads no mocking riddles in her eyes, 
Whose grim reply a prescient sense swift knows, - 
Onward, serene and confident, he goes, 

With no mirage to blur his morning skies; 
He fears not ambush, battle, nor surprise 
Who counts his friends and challenges his foes. 

What of that other one, who stands anear, - 

A hesitating pensioner of choice, 
To whom all things in masquerade appear; 
Who, seeking Duty, finds a tyrant's rule 

So merciless that he mistrusts her voice, 
And questions if he be slave or fool ! 



*5 



LETTERS. 

FRAIL little bridges spanning Life's delay, 
Over which Love may safely pass with fleet 
And noiseless steps, a waiting heart to greet 
With loving words that longing lips would say, - 
Ah ! could we send across the narrow way 
Such eloquence as eyes to eyes repeat, 
When tongues are silent, and the pulses beat 
In sympathy that words cannot convey ! - 

I send them forth in dainty uniform, 

Crowned with the beauty of an honored name, 
Across a continent, through sun and storm, 

Bearing a message evermore the same. 

Each one I cover with my kisses warm, 

Lest curious eyes should guess from whence it came ! 



16 



WITHHELD. 

FROM man's unnumbered blessings, God ordained 
That some dear treasure should be held apart, 
That Heaven might be the haven of his heart* 
And to make less the loss, which love explained, 
He chose two angels who had not attained 
To perfect angel-hood, but who the smart 
Of grief had not forgotten, nor the art 
Of consolation when the soul's light waned. 

One chose that man his need should never guess; 
The other, - though his quest be fruitless, yet 

m 

Should he seek, and measure thus his loss. 
Thus they decreed; and half mankind profess 
To laugh at life; and half, with vain regret, 
Seeking for gold find but a mocking dross ! 



M 



THE FIELD-GLASS. 

TO-DAY I see, as through a perfect lens, 
All things in clearest outline magnified; 
The distant hills in purple shadows hide 
Their jagged peaks, and smile like well-loved friends; 
Into my happy heart their peace descends; 

A fair, transfigured world, with vistas wide, 
In which all noblest purposes abide, - 
Such sorcery a nearer vision lends* 

To-morrow, Fate will turn the magic glass, 

And far and dim will seem this golden day, - 

In miniature each flitting cloud will pass - 
The wooden trees against a painted sky, 
Like mute interrogation marks will lie, 

As if to question what has gone away ! 



J8 



COMPARISON. 

44 "\]I^^^ ^° yoa say our sou ^ s are ° ne * n snc sa ^t 

V V " You, to whom Fortune has been more than kind, 
No single flaw in all your life I find, 
You hold each gift that I have coveted - 
Love, home, an honored place - while I, instead, 
Try to forget a hungry heart and mind* 
What common links could those two spirits bind 
Of one who feasts, and one who goes unfed ? n 

Dear friend, it is in this we are akin, - 

That I, to whom naught else has been denied, 
Except the blessing that I longed to own, 

Still grieve for the one boon I cannot win; 
And hold as worthless every thing beside, 
And strive to love, but find my heart a stone* 



J9 



PRAYER* 

NO MORE we pray as once our fathers prayed, - 
As confident of power as Jacob, when 
He wrestled with the Angel I Now are men 
Whom Doubt has schooled, grown humble and afraid; 
They dare not, were it possible, persuade 

From that Omnipotence beyond their ken, 
A gift, which given, they fain would lose again, 
Nor blindly choose which suffering to evade* 

Offer, thou suppliant with sorrow spent, 

No prayer, save that thou may not pray amiss* 
What blessing could thy feeble faith evoke ! 

Thy prayer was answered when thy knee was bent, - 
Deem not thy good more tangible than this, 
That thy head bowed when God within thee spoke ! 



20 



A HOLIDAY. 

THESE long bright days, so full of indolence, 
Pass by, with no regret to mark the hours* 
Yet can I feel a form that stealthy cowers 
Behind me, and imperiously calls me hence* 
I laugh and sing, - it is a vain pretence - 
Defiantly I fill my hands with flowers, 
And will not meet the face that darkening lowers, 
And claims again my lost allegiance* 

Ah, jealous Care ! You will not let me go; 
And I, so long your captive, have no art 

By which I can escape from your embrace. 
For though I stay or fly, I surely know 

That we are comrades; and my destined part 
Is the reflection of your weary face ! 



2\ 



THE GREAT LOSS. 

PITY not him, who, standing by his dead, 
Sees not the gruesome journey, but its end, 
When he shall greet again his absent friend; - 
Nor him, for whom Griefs bitterness shall shed 
New light o'er destiny; nor him, misled 

By Doubt, whose hopelessness shall ever rend 
His heart, e'en though he turn from Death to send 
A challenge back to Life, with unbowed head ! 

But grieve for him, who tearless flings a sneer 
At love, which made a world so full of pain; 
And counting Life's futility the whole, 
Scoffingly jeers at all that men hold dear; 
And living in To-day, affects disdain 

For that To-morrow coming to his soul ! 



22 



RECOMPENSE. 

THE POET speaks his word to human need; 
His sympathy, the proof of battles fought, 
And his authority, the Truth he sought* 
Yet doth he fail of greatness, if he heed 
Applause, in that he shares the common greed* 
It is enough for him that he has wrought, - 
Thrice blest indeed, if truthfully he taught 
In fit expression a diviner creed ! 

With single heart one modelled in the tower, - 
And scoffers whispered, as they stood apart, 
That none might see, but Angels' silent eyes ! 

Yet how august the audience ! Such power 
Links every artist to his chosen Art, 
And gives that guerdon which the world denies. 



23 



QUESTION* 

WHICH is the nobler aim : - with self control 
To choose a trivial question from the mass 
Of problems that Humanity harass, 
And spend each power to reach this nearer goal; 
Or look on Life as an indifferent whole, 

And view from point remote the pageant pass 
A fleeting image in a darkened glass - 
Nor note its kinship to the passive soul ? 

If by such Culture we attain alone 

A broad horizon, upon which we gaze 
With dull perception of each nearer fact, 

We miss indeed the spirit's undertone, 

And satisfied with shadows, tread our ways, 
Awake to see, but not aroused to act* 



24 



DROUGHT. 

THERE is a drought that lasts so late in Spring, 
That every tender shoot which waits for rain, 
In dewless effort spends its strength in vain* 
And though the little tendrils bravely cling, 
They find no food, and languish withering* 

At last the copious showers no more refrain, 
Yet come too late Spring's promise to regain, 
A feeble growth or blighted bloom they bring* 

Thus breathless, for my promised good, I wait, 
Keeping alive each hope as best I may, 

Lest when my summer showers at last descend 
They find my heart so choked with Care and Hate, 
That, unresponsive from the long delay, 

No worthy blossom finds its fruitful end* 



25 



GRIER 

I MARVELLED long at evanescent grief, - 
She was a trespasser - a transient guest, 
Secretly entertained with chill protest. 
And thrust aside for trivial things and brief, - 
Of fitful passions Sorrow seemed the chief ! 

What was the power of that austere behest, 
Which laid oblivion on hearts distressed ? 
What incantation brought such sure relief ? 

Ah me ! No more the haunting thought eludes, - 
Grief's crown is its futility foreseen. 
In our Gethsemane we are aware 
Of Reason whispering her platitudes, - 

And stilled by introspective vision keen, 

We measure Hope, and calculate Despair ! 



26 



LESSONS. 

AS A WISE mother, the long evening through, 
Hears sobbing in the dark her naughty son, 
And longs to enter, take the little one 
And press him to her heart so warm and true, 
And kiss away his tears, as mothers do, - 

Yet prays for strength that love be not undone 
By love, while yet the victory is not won, 
So answers not the cry she listens to, - 

Thus Discipline achieves her double part, 

Thus Patience reads the weary lesson o'er - 
And though I find for Love, with woman's art , 

A thousand sweet excuses evermore, 

Stern Honor stands, a grim unopened door 
'Twixt me and my rebellious, longing heart* 



27 



THE STRATAGEM. 

ONE said to me, " Come, let me plant, I pray, 
A hedge of duties round your life, a screen 
To keep you in a little world serene, - 
Sheltered in this enclosure you shall stay*" 
Then, wearying of this pretense and play, 

I would have passed: but lo! each sapling green 
Had grown a tree, with thorny vines between, 
Which tore my hands and shut me from the day. 

Ah, cunning jailer, - now I know your face 
And well I know the fate in store for me! 

I will not see the sky above my place, - 

Since nothing else is left for me to see - 

But gaze around my prison's narrow space, 
In dumb rebellion that I am not free ! 



28 



FAITHFUL FAILURE* 

IF IN LIFE'S battle thou hast met defeat, 
And Love and Faith lie slain upon the fields 
Bury the dead at night, and keep concealed 
Thy loss from curious eyes* Choose thou as meet, 
A requiem with a major cadence sweet; 

And raise a stone, which to the world shall yield 
Ambiguous messages, the truth to shield 
Whether it mark a victory or retreat* 

Yet count thy labor lost, if thou succeed 

In cheating others only, - that would show 
Thee but a bungling novice in thy art; 

Deceive thyself, lest thou become indeed 
A listener at graves, intent to know 
If walks the ghost of thy long-buried heart! 



29 



LIFE'S GIFT. 

LIFE, masquerading as an angel fair, 
• Came noiseless to my hearth, and said "Behold, 
Thy hidden fortune in my hands I fold; 
Come, freely choose, the right or left declare! n 
"I take the right" I said, and feared no snare - 

Then drew forth "Dull Unhappiness" with cold 
And trembling fingers, and my fate foretold; 
I wept hot tears of passionate despair* 

"Nay," said the Angel, "Thou hast chosen well - 
Now get thee to thy life-long task, and hide 
Thy gift that none suspect nor understand; 
And lest thou shouldst be tempted to rebel, 

See, I will show thee what the gods provide "- 
"Stinging Remorse" was in the other hand! 



30 



PROTEST, 

ALL THINGS must end, - would that it were not so! 
There is no hour we may implore to stay, 
No growth that is not followed by decay, 
There is no tide that does not reach its flow, 
Then straightway chb f unheedingly and slow; 
The sharpest anguish has its bitterest day, 
The warmest love at last will fade away, - 
That everything must cease, we surely know* 

And yet, toward Immortality we grope - 
That consolation in our greater griefs, 
That firm conviction Reason must deny; 

Experience counts for nothing against Hope - 
Could this be Life, - a choice of unbeliefs - 
Or this Success - to live the lesser lie ! 



3* 



TO 

NAY LOVE, I dare not toward your future glance, 
For tears so long with me have had abode, 
That though your days in fairest sunshine glowed, 
I should perceive but Sorrow's countenance* 
For have you not this grim inheritance - 

A will that lightly lifts a thankless load, 
A keen, exacting conscience, swift to goad, 
Joined to a soul's rebellious arrogance } 

So, on the day when you take up the task, 

From which, for your dear sake, I would not part - 
Let this drear thought a consolation be, - 
That all its weary weight was known to me ! 
I pray you, wear with better grace my mask, 
And hide from view more cunningly your heart ! 



32 



REPROOF TO SPRING. 

WHY LOITER like a tardy boy, who fain 
Would enter weeping, at the school room door: 
Do you not know that youth will soon be o'er - 
That all too brief will be your happy reign, 
And what is lost, can ne'er be won again ? 

Be then more worldly wise, nor careless pour 
The time away, that can return no more, 
But leaves, ill-spent, a memory of pain* 

Stern Winter flatters, but would take by force 

Your first, short, doubtful days; they are so brief 
You think they have not worth the keeping grown: 

Then stealthy Summer creeps along your course, 
To filch your latter days of bloom and leaf 
And undisputed, add them to her own ! 



33 



RESIGNATION, 

I DARED NOT any r esignation claim, 
Lest on the day wherein I could forget, 
I should despise myself for sorrow's debt, 
And for lack of constancy, cry " Shame ! n 
I counted it dishonor to defame 

My vanished hope by passionless regret, 
And blamed a fickle heart, if losing, yet 
Life could be fair, or friendship still the same ! 

Long I rebelled in loyal solitude, 

Till no new loss could rouse me to surprise: 

But when at last I had achieved the mood 

Which I thought patience, or its counterpart, 
Conscience awoke, and showed in this disguise, 

The cowardice of an impassive heart* 



34 



CUPID'S WAY. 

AS PAINFULLY I trod my hilly way, 
A pilgrim passed me, singing as he went. 
I liked him well, - we climbed the steep ascent, 
And talked of Life, of this, and that, all day. 
But when he spoke of Love, I answered "Nay, 
Experience is my master, and content, 
I speak but what I know, nor tales invent, - 
There is no one named Love to lead astray! n 

"Ah, say you so ? Then by Experience learn \ n 
Swift from his side he drew the keenest dart, 

And aiming straight, with careless unconcern, 

He lodged it deep in my once doubting heart ! 

More silently I lean upon my staff, 

And prate no more of Love, lest Cupid laugh ! 



35 



APRIL. 

I KNOW not if to hate or to disdain 
This wayward April, - month of discontent ! 
She wearies by her moods inconsequent. 
Her tedious tears, and sudden laughter vain, - 
"Whether she coquet, or plaintively complain, 
She moves me not by any sound or scent, 
Her witcheries fall on ears indifferent, 
Like monotone of the insistent rain* 

Is she a mirror to the restless heart - 
A type of indecision to the soul 

That seeks in Nature but its counterpart ? 

Or is this month more wearisome and drear, 
To one who finds no meaning in the whole - 

Than every season of the lagging year ? 



36 



DELAY. 

BAFFLING Delay ! Could we but know her wise. 
Then might we judge if Pity or Disdain 
Times the slow pace we chafe against in vain ! 
When we would haste, in impotent surprise, 
We feel a cold, detaining touch, that lies 

Chill on the pulse that throbs with feverish pain; 
With grave denial, the desired gain 
She still withholds, indifferent to our sighs. 

True, Time affirms her wisdom and reproves 
Impatient hearts that fret at her restraint; 

And yet, despite Experience, which moves 
Our hearts to wait with stoical assent, - 

*T is slow-pulsed Age alone, without complaint 
Who waits her tardy bounty in content. 



37 




THE BARGAIN* 

ITH POVERTY a bargain once I made, - 
To share my hearthstone cheerfully with her, 
And be all through the day her prisoner; 

But when the night should come, her hateful shade 

Should not molest me: this was all I prayed. 

And though I knew I could not Fate deter, 
I cared not who might be the messenger, 

If her unwelcome face I might evade. 

Ah me ! I would that I had been content 

With wholesome Poverty to share my bed ! 

For Fear lies close, and with convulsive start 
"Wakes me from sleep to new imprisonment; 
And Care lies constantly, a weight of lead 

That will not lift, across my aching heart ! 



38 



SUNSET, 

AS ONE, who, gazing on the western sky, 
Beholds it flash from rainbow tints to gold, 
Until the mountain peaks, forbidding, bold, 
Wear crowns of light and robes of crimson dye, - 
Then, satisfied, he eastward turns his eye 

And sees a landscape dim and dun unfold - 
And wondering why his heart shivers with cold, 
Feels suddenly the chill of evening nigh, - 

So I, whose days, transfigured by your grace, 

And quickened by your thought to f ruitf ulness, 
See my bleak way glow with reflected light; 
And so my life appears without your face - 
A vast horizon, gray and colorless, 

Already purpling into starless night ! 



39 



ASPIRATION. 

AS ONE who hears a symphony, and fast 
Through restless pulses feels it throb and thrill, 
And all his waking thoughts and fancies fill 
With haunting memories, and he tries at last 
To reproduce the dim impression past, - 

But the enchanting theme eludes him, till 
He bids the tuneless music to be still, 
Finding the actual mocks the ideal vast, - 

So seems, alas, my life; at best, a small 
Weak fragment of a melody, - a tone 

Struck now and then in tune with those that fall 
Upon my spirit's ear ! O loss unknown ! 

That this, from heavenly cadences, is all 

My trembling soul can sound and call its own ! 



40 



